Absolute Cheater - Chapter 484
Chapter 484: Averin Academy VIII
They stood there for a while, catching their breath. The silence that followed wasn’t the same as before—it wasn’t exhaustion or defeat. It was focus. They were starting to understand what he meant, even if they couldn’t put it into words yet.
Asher looked at each of them. “You’re improving. Every mistake you make now is smaller, but more important. Don’t rush to fix everything at once. Focus on one flaw at a time, and polish it until it disappears.”
Maxwell nodded, still gripping his sword tightly. “We’ll get there.”
“You will,” Asher said. “But it takes more than effort. You need awareness. Know what your body is doing at every moment. Know when you’re tense, when you’re relaxed, when your rhythm slips. Control starts with knowing.”
Amanda tilted her head slightly. “That’s easy to say. Harder to feel.”
“That’s why you train,” Asher said simply. “Repetition creates instinct. Instinct creates control.”
He walked past them, stopping at the center of the courtyard again. “For the next few days, we’ll focus on repetition. The same strikes, the same steps, again and again, until your movements no longer break the flow. Once you can do that, we’ll increase your power bit by bit.”
Sophia exhaled, half-tired, half-relieved. “So today was just the start.”
“Exactly,” Asher said. “Tomorrow we go again, one-quarter strength. You’ll keep your balance, your rhythm, and your awareness. Lose any of those, and you’ll lose the fight.”
They nodded in quiet agreement. None of them argued. They all understood now that he wasn’t just testing their power—he was rebuilding how they fought from the ground up.
Asher turned slightly, glancing at the sun now climbing higher over the academy walls. “Rest for the next few hours. Eat well, clear your minds. We start again at midday.”
As they left the courtyard, their steps were slower, steadier than before. No one joked, no one complained. They all carried the weight of his lesson in silence.
Once they were gone, Asher looked down at the courtyard floor. Faint footprints and blade marks still covered the marble, each one marking progress in its own way. He crouched down, running his fingers along one of the deeper cuts.
“They’re beginning to see it,” he said quietly to himself. “Not just strength—but control.”
He stood again and unsheathed his sword. The light glinted faintly off the edge. With calm precision, he began to practice the same movements he’d taught them—small, perfect, without any excess. Every cut left a clean trace of intent on the air, his breathing steady, eyes sharp.
By the time the cousins returned at noon, the courtyard would be ready again. So would he.
When the cousins returned at noon, the courtyard felt different again—clean, balanced, and still. The marks from the morning’s training had been erased, replaced by faint lines of fresh practice cuts. Asher stood waiting at the center, his sword resting lightly against his shoulder.
“Good,” he said as they took their places. “You’ve rested. Now we move to one-quarter strength. Same drills—but this time, you’ll feel what happens when power begins to interfere with control.”
Maxwell stepped forward first, rolling his shoulders before drawing his blade. The air around him shimmered faintly as his aura rose to one-fourth of its full intensity. He attacked with focus—fast, tight, and disciplined. The golden energy traced afterimages behind each swing.
Asher blocked the first strike easily, then sidestepped the second. The third came sharper, driven by intent rather than frustration. “Better,” he said. “But your core is shifting too early. Fix that.”
Maxwell adjusted mid-swing, lowering his center of gravity, and struck again. This time, the sound of steel meeting steel was clean—controlled. Asher gave a short nod.
Amanda followed next. Her whip cracked through the air, glowing faintly red with restrained lightning. The strikes came fast and precise, but when her rhythm began to rush, Asher’s sword moved once—catching the whip midair and holding it still.
“Don’t chase speed,” he said. “Speed comes when you stop forcing it.”
She exhaled, nodded, and started again—slower, smoother. The whip began to flow more naturally, each strike landing exactly where she wanted.
The twins took position together. Lia drew her bow while Sophia raised her shield. Their coordination had improved; Lia’s arrows curved around Sophia’s guard like guided lines of light. When Asher deflected one, Sophia instantly moved to block his counterstrike. Their teamwork had rhythm now, not just timing.
“Good,” Asher said. “But you’re still relying on each other too much. Learn to fight together—and alone.”
Finally, Sylens stepped forward. His movements were quiet, his eyes calm. This time, he didn’t rush into an attack. He waited. Then, when Asher shifted his stance slightly, Sylens moved—clean, efficient, his sword cutting through the air in a single sharp arc.
The clash rang out like a bell. Asher blocked it easily, but the force behind Sylens’s strike was more refined this time. “You’re starting to understand,” Asher said. “Attack from stillness, not impulse.”
The drills continued for hours. The cousins fought, rested, and fought again, each time refining a small flaw. Their energy control grew sharper, their movements more compact. Sweat poured down their faces, but they no longer looked frustrated—only focused.
When the sun dipped low, Asher raised his hand. “Stop.”
They froze instantly. The courtyard was silent except for the sound of heavy breathing.
“You’re beginning to touch real form,” he said. “Not perfection, but the foundation of it. You’ll need that if you want to master the first two stages of the art.”
Maxwell glanced up. “How close are we?”
“Close enough,” Asher replied. “If you can hold this level tomorrow without losing rhythm, I’ll teach you how to fuse energy with intent—the first stage of the art in practice.”
Amanda exhaled, smiling faintly. “Finally.”
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Asher said evenly. “Tomorrow will be harder. You’ll fight me at one-half strength. If you lose control, you start over.”
They exchanged looks, a mix of nervousness and determination, then nodded.
Asher sheathed his sword. “Good. Eat, rest, and return at dawn. The real lesson begins then.”
As they left, the last rays of sunlight caught the edge of his blade. Asher remained where he was, watching them disappear into the dormitory shadows.